Long time gone

Somehow since June 18th I've logged less than a dozen nights in my own bed.  Over those many nights looking at a moon through foreign windows, I lay still.  Awake either because of physical or emotional pain and praying to disappear.  This summer, light years from the one I had planned, was clearly a mistake.  This was supposed to be my time to heal and rest, with daily walks going no farther than the porch swing.  And Dad is supposed to be healthy and strong and cheering the kids on at their soccer games.
When I wander in the dessert my last instinct is to say, hey this place is beautiful, definitely one for the record books.
Picking up the camera is an act of obedience.  Some days it lay there in the corner and I actually said no.  Out loud.  Most days though, I knew God was being faithful, even on the worst days.  For weeks I forced myself to look.  The beauty of a child's hand on their dying grandfather, the pain of letting go, watching Ben tend to his father as he would a child, letting a five year olds bravery carry me through all four verses of It Is Well With My Soul, the heartbreak of hearing Dad's love of nearly 50 years say, it's ok.  When you see Jesus run into his arms.  We are going to be ok.  We are going to miss you but we are going to be ok.
The sacrifices, the tears, the laughter at the weirdest times, the quiet family prayers between sunset and sunrise, the footsteps on holy ground.  Hard realities are generally camera shy but the one holding the baton whispered perfect peace to all of us and refused to be kept in the dark.  So in fitting fashion, with a gust of wind, a wide swung door, a flood of rain and a crashing vase, Dad was whisked to his eternal home.

And we are left behind.
And I have to choose every day whether I want to pick up the camera or tell myself that nothing is worthy.  The deep guts of this reality is that life is hard right now.  In a lot of different ways.  Things don't really feel the way they should be and I've had to learn that my Jesus Calling mornings are no longer enough to get me through a day without being the mom who guilt trips her kids or that bitchy lady who cuts you off in traffic.  I have to get on my knees with my face to the ground (like literally) and say I can't do this alone.  Me in pain, without You, is someone no one wants to be around, especially me.  In that wide span of quiet, I soak it in.  Feel the brave and the gutsy and the LOVED.  And I see the camera on the dirty hook by the door and ask myself if I want to be surprised today.